Today, you walked past me, dream light in your conversation. A simple smile. An inquisitive
head tilt. A slight hand squeeze. I soak in this much affection. Yesterday, you looked my way. Brushed past me for your early morning ritual. A delicate
pupil widening. Two days ago, I entered the spare bedroom to realize one of us is an insubstantial
ghost. Three days ago, enough tofu stir-fry on the stove for my dinner, your dirty dishes
already in the sink. Four days ago, your overnight bag scrunched on the welcome mat. TV blares behind
a locked door. Five days ago, I returned from work, your soap redolent throughout our empty house. Six days ago, you packed a bag, small in size but hefty in thought. A week ago, I crawled, skinning my knees for your forgiveness.